Praying Mantis
by Momosportif
Summary: HOW CAN MARIYA ENSHIROU NOT BE ON THE CHARACTER LIST! Needless to say, this story features him prominently. XD Written on the borrowed prompt of rain, a little gentle lime flavored Jinshirou encounter. Lovelies are Watanabe's. Please enjoy!


**Author's note**: I thought I'd write a little something on the prompt of rain...there's an LJ community called SamChamJam that the venerable and awesome SalomeSensei co-moderates and it is running this prompt this two week period. i have no LJ account and continue to put it off, but I'm a sucker for rain and fanfiction. XD Check the community out if you're interested! they would love to have more writers!!! :3

In any case, hope you enjoy this!

-bows-

-S

* * *

The wood is silent with cold like so many of us have been this evening. It is not yet a comfortable chill, and I cannot help but worry.

There is noise on the roof: water that should have frozen.

My feet ache.

I walk on to that dangerous beat only to find when I've crossed this open space that the pulse has not left me. My heart is racing over the purr of the rain.

I walk on.

* * *

The blush of the dare is lost in the moment my eyes and the slope of his spine meet. The air is too tight for surprise today, too sharp and sheer. He is where I knew he would be.

In a matter of breaths I too bend to the slumber of winter- too tired even for the obligatory shame I was prepared to bear.

Still, I am heavy.

"Is there not room enough here?" he asks.

I have no answer and the rain rolls time past us at a pace I cannot follow.

At last he unfolds with the smooth slowness of a many-jointed insect near the end of a short and useless life.

At last - I have made him look at me. But our eyes do not meet.

Shame has braved the slopes of silence and found a way to me. It pierces so sharply the burn of my bare feet on bare wood is instantly forgotten, losing all identity as its name is stripped away leaving only a shadow of what I once knew to be pain. Feet on wood is almost soft now- my head still bowed to the side swells with understanding and lifts with the wave of new knowledge.

I become a little stronger, just enough to know my place beside him.

Now the hum of neglected snow follows my footsteps precisely.

I stand beside him, aware always of how his eyes keep me company, and then I sit.

Beyond the screen the silhouette of rain tripping on the eaves and plummeting towards something larger is clear. Did he choose this spot for this scene exactly? I cannot help but ask myself. How long ago might he have first taken in this gentle vision of death and how many days has he lost, waiting here for the rain to come again?

He folds like the reflection of his unfolding, exact and perfect as he is in all forms of motion.

With the quieting of my heartbeat a desire has escaped unchecked - to let him see at last the body he has forever only watched.

A distraction.

We sit in our own puddle of silence and thoughts because I cannot decide between statements or omission, saying nothing or saying everything but. I am drowning in something larger.

The rain roars suddenly.

* * *

Our forms have changed to fit the others' when early morning arrives in its timid way.

His shoulder has dropped impossibly to hold my head.

My cheek is hollow from being pressed between his weight and my own.

Still, the rain trips over the eaves beyond the screen, but on the roof it scuttles instead of lopes. They are fewer and fewer, dropping sleek and plump, rippling out of existence.

Feeling our breaths rise and fall together I am acquainted with the droplets and that sense of namelessness.

Feet slide easily on wood, shifting towards comfort. Bare feet, bare wood. My bare shoulder was gently covered - sincere apology - hours ago.

We are waiting for the rain to pass.

* * *

It is sickeningly simple to hide behind my perpetual quiet sometime later in the day. The cold has settled on all of us and that dull evening is forgotten by this bright day.

I walk in file, sure to be neither at the front nor last.

Someone ahead steps in our puddle, caught in conversation and unaware. Expecting an answer I look up.

There is no silhouette beyond the screen. He is not there.

It should have snowed last night.

My reflection folds and unfolds its way to where water meets earth, but I cannot wait for these sandaled tremors to pass and honor the deaths of a thousand raindrops with stillness.

I walk on.


End file.
